


Dress Me Up To Get Down

by daffodil_daisy



Series: Season Of Kink 2019 [5]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20735384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daffodil_daisy/pseuds/daffodil_daisy
Summary: Five times Debbie was attracted to a lover's clothing.





	Dress Me Up To Get Down

~1~  
Lou is a constant for Debbie. There’s never been a time she hasn’t loved her, and Debbie can’t imagine ever falling out in the future. What they have is loose enough to not provoke possession, Debbie’s fucked half a dozen men, and she knows Lou’s had her own platter of morsels. But there’s trust there, something that no other until Claude had earned, and everyone knows how that ended up. Being certain of support is an aphrodisiac in Debbie’s world.

Of course, so is how goddamn hot Lou is. There are times where Lou leaves her breathless with a simple glance. None more so than when she’s climbing off a motorcycle, clad in leather. It is an exceptionally good look for Lou, and Debbie knows good looks.

It’s yet another night of rumbling engine turning off in the parking lot, and Debbie waiting on tenterhooks to get her first glimpse. And there she is; black jeans, blue leather boots, blue and white pieced leather jacket zipped up to the collar. It doesn’t matter that physically Debbie only stands up and says hello, they both know she’s swooning. They both know in twenty minutes or less Debbie will be buried tongue deep in Lou, while she’s still wearing the jacket. If Lou didn’t want to be ravished she wouldn’t be wearing the jacket.

~2~  
Rose has a thing for lace and frills, that much is obvious. Sort of like Wednesday Addams’ sixth birthday party. It’s not even remotely Debbie’s aesthetic, but she has to admit Rose makes it look good. 

Good enough, in fact, to proposition her outright. Debbie is more blunt than normal, but Rose needs blunt. She’s too in her own head to recognize basic facts, like stop buying yachts, like no one likes sad flight attendant fashion, like I’m flirting. Debbie literally says do you want to have sex, and still gets a why?

The thing about lace is that it’s itchy. The kind of person that can tolerate wearing it for hours on end is the kind of person that can handle a bit of rough play in bed. Once Debbie finally gets Rose on her throw pillow laden king sized bed it’s all biting and scratching and moaning. Rose has sharply manicured nails, unsuitable for fingering, so Debbie grinds against Rose’s thigh as she sucks a hickey into Debbie’s collarbone. Imagine being into your fourth decade of life and not understanding that you’re too old for hickeys. Debbie can almost admire that sort of obliviousness.

~3~  
Tammy holds a few steady sense memories in Debbie’s mind. Above all else, there’s cardboard. Debbie’s not sure if she’s ever been in a room with Tammy that doesn’t include a ceiling high stack of something that fell off a truck. Tammy’s very good at what she does -Debbie doesn’t hold acquaintance with incompetent people- and that means vast quantities.

Beyond the work though, there’s the green apple scent. For as long as Debbie’s known Tammy, she’s been particular about her bath products. She can’t be tempted by Chanel, Hermes, or even a sparkly organic bath bomb. All she wants is some crappy five dollar Head & Shoulders green apple conditioner, and whatever green apple shower gel CVS is currently stocking.

And of course there’s the sweaters. It’s some combination of Tammy running cold, a socks to bed kind of woman, and the god awful taste that comes with suburban parenting. 

Altogether there’s nothing surprising about this encounter: bare chest to a red cable knit sweater, backed up against a sky high pile of crockpots, smelling apples when she angles her head in to bite Tammy’s neck. Debbie’s not always looking for a surprise though. There’s a comfort in feeling the luxurious yarn against her breasts and knowing she’ll always be able to get this from Tammy.

~4~  
Constance is far more gender neutral than Debbie is usually attracted to. Call her a gender conformist, but she’s drawn to handsome men and buxom women. But there’s just something about Constance that draws the eye. A ridiculous statement for a pickpocket so good Debbie’s betting her future on it, but true nonetheless. 

Shortly after the Metrocard incident Debbie tracks her down. Not to actually produce a Metrocard, of course, Debbie is not yet made out of money, though she plans to be in the near future. No, what Debbie wants is not to provide for her, but to take from her. She needs a moment of down time during their heist, a moment to stop thinking and revel in body language.

Constance’s apartment is a lot like her, whites and greys with uncovered windows and hallucinogenic posters and neon signs. It all says _I don’t know what’s appropriate and what clashes, but I don’t care_. It’s the same attitude that has Constance pulling her strap on harness out of her dresser drawer minutes after they kiss for the first time. Not that Debbie’s saying no. It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked. 

Constance doesn’t take her goofy shirt off the whole time. Not an adjective, it’s a worn in broken down white shirt with a barely legible Goofy on it. The soft edge of the hem feathers against Debbie’s pubic mound like teasing fingertips. Debbie would grab Constance, except there’s a fear of literally ripping a hole in the tissue thin fabric. It’s an exciting balance, the delicate yet trashy clothes vs the rough but impersonal fucking. It’s exactly what she needed.

~5~  
It doesn’t take a lot of pondering to figure out Daphne is into kinky shit. Rumors have floated around insinuating such things, but the same tabloids write pieces about so it’d hard to trust the veracity of such claims. When handed solid proof however, rumors take on a new edge. 

The first clue Debbie had was during surveillance, watching Rose shape Daphne’s muslin to her form. Most people don’t sigh happily when they get pricked by an accidental slip of a pin. The second was no one had to provide Daphne with the police grade metal handcuffs to honeytrap and frame Claude, she just had them. 

Debbie’s third clue is the evening of the day she and Lou reveal to the unaware half of the crew that the Toussaint wasn’t the real goal of the heist. All the other women have scattered, gone home to begin mapping out what they’ll do with their millions. Daphne lingers, desire easily read in her aura. Her hand keeps drifting to her neck, unconsciously. On the contrary, Debbie is very conscious of how she wants to lick the invisible path Daphne’s making.

Debbie decides to give in to this poor rich girl, so lonely she joined a group of criminal masterminds. She opens the vault and clasps one of the heavy diamond and sapphire necklaces around Daphne’s neck. Daphne is gasping even before Debbie pulls on the back of the necklace so the front is taut against Daphne’s throat. Debbie doesn’t let go until she fingers the younger woman to completion. Daphne is panting, whether from the choking or the orgasm Debbie doesn’t know, but she’s enough of an actress to maintain composure and stay upright. There are impression marks left from the jewels, and a satisfied expression painted on her lips. It’s enough to make Debbie feel proud.


End file.
